A Poem

Its 12:00 a.m.

No notifications.

You stare vacantly at the neon light.

Your eyes are sore and tired.

Sleep probably will heal you.

You run down the street.

The bus drives away.

Why are you always late?

Shutting the world out with earphones,

You keep walking.

The next one will come soon, right?

You try to be happy.

You try to be better.

You are fucking disillusioned.

No one is happy.

You don’t deserve it either.


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